I am hopping mad, which is both strenuous and difficult to co-ordinate with six legs. Having perused the 2013 journal I find it makes for lamentable reading.
In January, Uncle Lucas was still basking in his triumph of stealth engineering, our ghost ... er, I mean themed mineshaft railway, but nothing came of the promised TV documentary or indeed our own efforts to finance a fillum.
February saw me encountering artistic tribulations when I received threats after announcing plans to re-write "The Lost Chord". Let me make it clear that I will never bow to intimidation, I've just had a bit of songwriter's block, that's all.
Auntie Pamela was grim company after being rejected for Eurovision, but a least April saw the departure back to Texas of Cheryl the Frighteningly Large Earwig. who had outstayed her welcome since descending on us for the 2012 Olympics.
Then, of course, Groida twocked the harmonium in order to retrieve his renegade automaton, Mr Prendergast. Sadly he succeeded and we all wasted most of the summer and autumn preparing it to dig the foundations of the undersea Palladium site. Then Mr P's brain exploded, it did a runner (okay, a tunneller) and is still on the loose.
Am I being overly dramatic? I realise a lot of people have had a rough year but it seems as if Team Ambrose is under a dark, Olympian cloud. Come the young hours of the new year, we will be gathering for a team huddle in Shaft 7 (all weapons to be surrendered and left outside). Hopefully, after a bit of brainstorming and an inspirational pep talk from yours truly, the posse can face the future with keen eyes, brave hearts and thoughts of renewed naughtiness.
Blydhen Nowydh Da!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Speechless
I can't win. If I take a break from my journalistic endeavours I am described as lazy. Yet when I dream up a wizard jape I am similarly shot down in flames.
It was originally my intention to deliver a festive address to the mighty League of Ambrosians (and the world at large) in the style of a certain Royal personage who tends to have something to say for herself at about this time of day, as her subjects are picking their teeth and blowing off.
However, Auntie P has warned me in no uncertain terms that if I disrespect or parody HM's own efforts, I will not see a morsel of Xmas dinner nor be allowed to watch Doctor Who this evening. I know when I am beaten.
But do not despair, I have another notion in the toe of me festive stocking. Watch out in the coming days for yer Uncle Ambrose's review of the year. If it's good enough for Blue Peter ...
Anyway, must get ready for our feast. Luckily the giant anaconda at Newquay zoo croaked last week and it is just gamey enough now for the table. We are having all the usual trimmings; crispy fried bladderwrack, devilled winkles and of course the ubiquitous Brussel sprouts.
A merry Xmas to all of you from me good self and the rest of Team Ambrose!
It was originally my intention to deliver a festive address to the mighty League of Ambrosians (and the world at large) in the style of a certain Royal personage who tends to have something to say for herself at about this time of day, as her subjects are picking their teeth and blowing off.
However, Auntie P has warned me in no uncertain terms that if I disrespect or parody HM's own efforts, I will not see a morsel of Xmas dinner nor be allowed to watch Doctor Who this evening. I know when I am beaten.
But do not despair, I have another notion in the toe of me festive stocking. Watch out in the coming days for yer Uncle Ambrose's review of the year. If it's good enough for Blue Peter ...
Anyway, must get ready for our feast. Luckily the giant anaconda at Newquay zoo croaked last week and it is just gamey enough now for the table. We are having all the usual trimmings; crispy fried bladderwrack, devilled winkles and of course the ubiquitous Brussel sprouts.
A merry Xmas to all of you from me good self and the rest of Team Ambrose!
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